


Surge Capacity

by Astronoddingoff



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Strange New Worlds
Genre: "whoops we became FWBs but im in love with you" sex, F/M, FWBs, Love Confessions, Oral Sex, Pegging, Switching, aka Christopher Pike's switch vibe really comes out, like blink and you'll miss it, replicator nonsense, wrist binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronoddingoff/pseuds/Astronoddingoff
Summary: His hands on her, the way he looked at her. The light of the stars that seemed to shimmer as it glided in through the windows, bathing them in the incandescent light. It was all so… serene. Quiet. Just the two of them.‘Now. If not now, when?’And then, seemingly all at once, the entirety of engineering went to shit.AKA: It's very inconvenient to be fwb's on a starship that's prone to hijinks. Especially when you Run that starship. And Even More Especially if you're in love with the person you're running said starship with.
Relationships: Number One/Christopher Pike
Comments: 13
Kudos: 43





	Surge Capacity

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written in ages. A literal once in a century PANDEMIC happened since I last wrote fic. I had planned to write like 6 other fics including a Reno/Pollard long con, some Cornrell shit. Nope. Here's what y'all get. Its horny, it's messy, it's too tender than it reasonably should be. It's the only fic I can imagine putting out right now. I'm not sorry.

This new aspect of their relationship, while  _ very _ nice, still comes with some...adjusting.

Hardly a month ago, a drunken night watching the stars led to discussion. Led to fingers grazing one another around the neck of his favorite bottle of gin. Led to nerves lighting in her skin as she gazed at his face illuminated by the stars, dark eyes watching her like she was some kind of impossible wonder. The heavy weight of a confession sitting in her chest and the way it almost tumbled out of her mouth as he had grazed the skin of her hand. 

_ Almost _ . 

The way it stole her breath when he plucked her hand off the neck of the bottle, brought it close to his face, and kissed the inside of her wrist, eyes half lidded as he looked at her, and asked if she wouldn’t mind taking him to her bed.

She hadn’t minded in the slightest.

\--

And from there it was like a fire had been lit. Since then, he could barely keep his hands  _ off _ her. And she was hardly any better.

Today, he had her pinned between him and his desk. He had coaxed her over to him all soft and teasing, promising it was just paperwork, ‘just a question’. And she knew it was a trap; a farce to bring her close, but oh, she went anyway. She let him open her jacket to mouth bruises into her neck. Teasing hands sliding all over her as he whispered all sorts of stupid shit in her ear just to make her laugh.

And there, somewhere between his boyish grin and her own dumb smile. That same damned curl of affection winding in her chest. The one that rose damn near every time he smiled at her nowadays and threatened -begged- to say something, anything. How nice this was, how  _ right _ it felt.

Chris stopped. All at once she realized she had frozen, lost in her own head.

“You ok?” he asked softly. His eyes scanned her face. “We can stop? I know we haven’t really talked about this, but-”

“No!” she responded just a tad too quick. “No, I.” She shook her head. And when she did, she looked back to him to see his concerned eyes.

“It’s nice. This, you.” She finished lamely. God, she was better than this. “People don’t tend to hear “wanna be fuckbuddies” and respond with “let me kiss you softly”. At least not where I’m from. Maybe it’s part of your ‘desert freak people’ things and I’m just not getting it.”

He laughed softly. “Mm. A little bit. And it doesn’t help that Illyrians aren’t known for basking in vulnerability,” he teased. Ducked his head to chastly press his lips to hers. Pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes and flash another grin. “But we seem to do alright.”

His hands on her, the way he looked at her. The light of the stars that seemed to shimmer as it glided in through the windows, bathing them in the incandescent light. It was all so… serene. Quiet. Just the two of them.

_ ‘Now. If not now, when?’ _

His eyes gazed into hers, thumb stroking her cheek. That warmth in her chest threatened to break loose, shook the words free of the vice within her.

_ ‘Tell him’ _

“I-”

And then, seemingly all at once, the entirety of engineering went to shit.

\---

“Commander, the replicators are only making coffee, green juice, and soup, and no one knows why.”

“Captain, the hologram program keeps activating randomly and scaring the hell out of everyone in the middle of the night thinking they’re ghosts.”

“Hey uh, just as a PSA? I think the door to the bathroom on the bridge welded itself shut? So uh, be prepared to have to go down a flight on the lift if you need to go, I guess.”

“Commander, I think the climbing wall in the gym has gained sentience, and it’s sadistically despawning handholds while people are on them. Can we waive the quarterly physical that’s coming up?”

“Shipwide announcement: We have fixed the first replicator issue, and it now makes solid food, but it now doesn’t make the coffee, green juice, or soup that it did earlier. We hate it just as much as you, and trust that the return of coffee is our first priority. Engineering out.”

\---

Three whole days of systems going wrong -not catastrophically, thankfully- but a whole host of annoying problems one after another with only vague threads connecting them. Three whole fucking days of barely being able to catch a few hours sleep, let alone see Chris, without being interrupted by an endless stream of issues. She’s caffeine deprived. She’s gotten the hell scared out of her by a goddamn hologram at least once a day. She’s constantly trying to work around a seemingly endless stream of issues and engineering giving her nothing but a shrug and a “fuck if we know”. She should be pissed as all hell. And yet.

Chris has been making an effort to crack the annoyance radiating through the crew's demeanors. Well timed jokes, sympathy, a calm understanding of “yes, this sucks, and I’m right there with you all with missing the damn coffee” every damn day. It’s like he’s made it his own personal mission to make everyone crack a grin at least once, and by her reckoning, its a successful one. 

He’s  _ also _ making an effort to greet her every morning of these godforsaken days with a smile and the strongest tea he could have possibly brewed for her.

“It’s bitter as hell and quite possibly poison, but damn if it didn’t get rid of my headache” Chris mumbled, voice rough from sleep. He slides it across the countertop of their shared bathroom easily, just like how he usually slides her a morning coffee.

She stops it with her free hand without looking. Spits the toothpaste out of her mouth to respond back. “Bitter and deadly? Just like me. Oh, Chris, you shouldn’t have!”

He rolls his eyes at her, but the smile on his face stays. Then turns wicked.

“Oh but baby, we both know you’re sweet as pie! A delicate little flow-”

Even as the last three days have been hell off Earth, he still ducks her swatting arm with glee and laughter. And damn her if she has to hide her own grin behind her mug of near-poison tea.

\--

She’s made an effort to touch him more, especially these last few days when they’ve barely had enough time to brush their teeth together, let alone snag anything more. Little gestures, grazes. Standing so close to him that she can feel how warm he is, but not quite close enough. And Chris -who is possibly the most tactile lover she’s ever had- just  _ soaks it in. _

He leans into her every time. Chases every touch, every bit of a tease she gives him even if it can’t go anywhere. Ducks his head to kiss her while she’s updating him when they’re alone, leans right back into her while they’re riding the lift up to the bridge together, alone and unbothered. It’s a comfort now, even if it’s different. 

_ They’d been thick as thieves since before she’d taken him to bed: hell, he’d seen her naked and shared a bed with her long before sex got factored into it. And he’s no stranger to touch; reassuring shoulder pats for the crew, the occasional warm hug when everything goes to absolute hell on an Ensigns first away mission. But he’s always reserved more for her. Space for her. Occasionally it scared her; whether the change between them would change that, if things went sour, if they walked into something their relationship wouldn’t recover from. _

“You think too much sometimes” he says to her, as they scarf down a protein bar on their way to go meet the engineers for their second meeting in a shift over what the hell to do about their ship falling apart.

“Isn’t that why you keep me around? To do the thinking you clearly  _ don’t _ do?” She answers back. Tips her head back as she shotguns what’s left of her bar. He laughs before he swallows down the rest of his own ‘meal’.

“Oh, I can think of at least a few other reasons why you’re indispensable,” he says teasingly. “Not the least of which being that you make a great pillow to sleep on.”

\-- 

Days into her and Chris’ little trip down hellish lane, and she’s convinced she’s never had this much fun in her life.

Between the system issues, shift and paperwork hours, and their own needs to eat and work out and sleep, they barely have enough time to brush their teeth together in the morning. Let alone anything more involved. And the nature of their new… whatever this was, meant that there couldn’t be a soul on ship who could know anything between them had changed. A mutual agreement between the two of them settled weeks ago. Finished. Decided. Done with.

So tell her  _ why,  _ and  _ how,  _ she could find such a thrill in driving Chris up the goddamn wall.

Chris was the instigator of their little game: two days prior he had stood with her in the back of the lift down from the end of alpha shift. No less than five other people were in there with them, having a conversation among themselves, and Chris? Chris decides this is the perfect time to slip one arm behind her and trace fingers down her back. Where anyone could turn around and see it! He was in her space, touching her, and their entire engagement could be blown open to the gossip mill! She had every right to brush him off! She could have! Anyone in her position should.

And yet, she hit the button for engineering. And waited until everyone but the two of them were in the lift. And promptly shoved him into the wall and sought retribution in claiming his lips as he laughed against her.

_ She did not take up the name of Number One because she was a coward. Game on. _

\---

Any touch they could manage, any glance spared. Never spoken about aloud, and yet, understood. He clasped her wrist and brushed his thumb against the inside of it when alone in the halls. She danced fingers down his spine in an abandoned corridor on their way to shift. One day he pressed his leg against hers while they ate in the caf and refused to acknowledge  _ any comment  _ she made that others could see them. 

She waited until he was unsuspecting, taking a sip of his drink before he gestured him closer under the guise of checking her padd for the recent update.

“The new engineering update looks promising” he murmured, reading the patch notes before taking a sip of water.

“Mm. If everything goes well with this recent patch, you might have enough free time again to eat me instead of speed bars,” she responded back as casually as she could manage.

To his credit, he didn’t spit take or choke loudly enough to attract much attention. Still, watching him cough half a mouthful of water onto himself  _ did  _ force a small smile on her face.

“Jesus Christ, Una.” he swore at her, grabbing a handful of napkins to dab at his jacket. Damn, he looked  _ genuinely  _ chastised. That’s  _ hilarious,  _ given the new nature of their relationship and all the  _ other things  _ she’s said to him at one point or another _. _

She simply smiled at him.

“Paybacks a bitch, huh?”

\---

On the fifth day, she gets bold and traces her fingers down his back while they’re alone in the hallway to the lift to get to shift early. He jumps slightly -no matter how much she touches him, or how tactile he is, that never changes- but he settles, hardly looks at her. When the doors close them into the lift, she gets even bolder. 

She presses him into the wall with a quick shove, and he barely gets a half-laugh out before she’s pressing her parted lips to his. She traces her tongue along his bottom lip and he opens his mouth to her, letting her slide her tongue against his. It’s instinct to press into him with the length of her body, let his arms envelop her in his warmth. She palms his ass, feels up his chest, curls nails in the hair at the base of his neck. And he just  _ takes it, _ letting her take what she wants and soaking up every damn touch she gives him with a murmured noise. He cups her breast through her jacket, squeezing lightly. Grabs her thigh with one hand and skirts it up to squeeze her ass as her own fingers cup his face and his tongue slides against hers. His hand comes up to grab at the base of her head, careful to tangle in her hair but not disturb her curls -which is both honorable  _ and _ adorable, and so very  _ Chris _ -

And then she pulls away.

She has to practically peel herself off him in the process, and, yeah, shit. That got heated even for her, and this was  _ her plan. _ She was  _ prepared _ for it. One look at Chris tells her plainly that he was decidedly  _ not. _

He swears at her, panting. Tries to get his bearings and calm down. Hair askew, cheeks red and decidedly past the point of compromised, he stares at her like she’s lost her mind. She just smiles at him. Lets every inch of space between them  _ burn. _

He tries to collect himself, check his hair. She gets herself into a resting posture she hopes is causal, and faces the doors.

“You’re gonna get what’s coming to you, Una” he swears, rubbing his mouth.

She looks at him over one shoulder.

“And what  _ exactly _ is coming for me, Captain?” She asks him smoothly. Gives him a once over for show.

He shakes his head at her even if she can see the beginnings of a smile forming behind his fingers.

“You-”

Whatever he was going to say is cut off by the lift slowing. And like that, the doors open, and their individual ranks land evenly back onto their shoulders. Gone is their casual relationship, in its place: professionalism.

“We’ll discuss this later,” he promises darkly, quietly, as they walk to their stations. Nods at the crewmen who gladly give up the posts for them.

“Of course,” she says back evenly. Amin looks between them, concerned. Shoots her a meaningful look as she sits down. She raises an eyebrow. Amin raises one of her own, and gestures to the Captain.

Oh. Shit.

“...Sir” she adds, just a tad late. 

It’s a mistake that catches the eyes of a few of the crew, turning to see what’s gotten between the two of them.

_ Shit. _

It’s almost worth it just to see it land on Chris. How his eyes settle on her and, even if he says nothing, can feel the heat of his gaze. He nods silently at her, and she turns back around. 

She pretends to begin her shift even as eyes bore into them both. She can practically  _ hear _ the gossip mill running already.

So much for professionalism.

\---

The moment that shift ends, he all but commands her away to the lift instead of their usual moves to the ready room. 

“Number One, with me.” And then he simply walks to the lift with a few people already inside, not bothering to wait for her like he usually does.

She catches the glances of a few of their coworkers, and it’s a fight to keep her face neutral. Nods.

“Of course, Sir.” Purposeful, this time. She’s already dropped formalities once today, thank you very much. No need to make their poor coworkers in the lift with them think they’re caught in the crosshairs of a petty argument any more so than they probably already do.

The ride down is quiet, uneventful. He doesn’t touch her.It’s a surprise that she notices its absence. Even more so to realize she  _ misses _ it. When it stops at deck two, he motions to her, and she follows him out silently. Only a few crew pass them by as he winds them through various hallways. As soon as they turn into an empty corridor, he flicks a quick glance over his shoulder before looking forward again.

“C’mere you” he says softly, and that’s all the warning she gets before his arm is around her waist, tugging her close, not breaking his stride.

She slightly stumbles into him as his hand squeezes lightly at her hip. An unmistakable thrill goes through her, and she can’t help but grin.

“Is that all?” she asks him, teasing. “The whole pomp and circumstance? Ordering me into the lift, making our coworkers think you’re going to take me to some conference room and bitch me out?”

“I would never ‘bitch you out’ and you know it.” He rolls his eyes. His fingers drum lightly against her hip. He veers them right, not with verbal directions but by the slightest shift of him against her, and it’s almost strange how she barely realized he was doing it before she followed. Like her body just knew.

“Then what’s happening here, pray tell?” She asks him lightly. 

“‘What’s happening here’, is that you’re setting your pad to silent-besides-emergency, and I’m taking you back to our quarters. Because  _ you-” _ he turns to her with a heated look, “-are nothing but a goddamn  _ tease, _ and this has been a damn  _ week _ in the making.”

_ ‘Our quarters’ _

Ignoring the rising, addictive excitement in her veins is a herculean effort, but she manages. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She says, just enough of a lilt in her voice. 

He casts her a look, eyes dark and grinning.

“You’re gonna get what’s coming to you one day.” He promises again. She grins.

“Bet.”

\---

She loves how he lets her touch him.

How he lets her strip the burden and control off him like it’s just a part of his jacket. How he kisses her and lets her walk him back into the bedroom as he laughs against her lips. How his eyes darken and his lip gets bitten between his teeth as she pulls out the wrist binds from the box under the bed. He’s happy to let her do damn near anything she wants with him, and oh, does she love to pull his own fantasies from wherever he keeps them buried. Loves to listen to him beg as she edges him until they’re both desperate for it.

Tonight has been one such night. Tied up, squirming, panting, desperate. She works the toy buried in him in shallow thrusts. He pants with every one of them, pulling at the bonds, trying to stay still, failing. 

“Una,” he wheezes as the toy grazes his prostate in another purposeful misdirection. His thighs twitch. “Una it's been  _ ages, _ please,”

It hasn’t been nearly as long. Maybe twenty, thirty minutes. She’s hardly edged him more than twice. 

“I thought the issue was me touching you, Chris?” she retorts back. Gives another harder push of the toy. Chris whines. “I was a tease? You aren’t touching me, and I’m not technically touching you. Isn’t this better?”

Chris hurls a litany of vague swears at her, but that could also be directed at the way she picks up speed, teases him closer to the brink. Cuts herself off with a sudden slow thrust that has Chris panting, trembling. He begs her again.

_ “Una,” _

On any other night, she may not be so merciful. But hell, with the way Chris is squirming, it’s clear he’s riled up enough. And honestly, her own need is threatening to overcome her anyways.

“Ok baby,” she whispers, moving her hands up to the binds of his wrists. Slowly starts to undo them. “You’ve been good, you can touch-”

She expected a few things to happen. Him to grab her hips, beg for her, maybe touch himself. The usual.

That doesn’t happen. 

As soon as his hands are free he’s moving like fucking lightning. Hands wrap around to pin her to him and in a flash she’s flipped onto her back. Somewhere in the span of the flip and the pin to the bed she shrieks: not with fear, but with a sort of primal surprise of being flipped around like she weighs nothing. It’s quickly cut off by the way Chris scoops her hips off the bed and takes her lips and slides his tongue against hers in a way that just lights her up.

He all but smothers her in the way he presses his whole body against her, pins her back to him. His hands and mouth leave her dizzy and panting. He bites her neck and laves at the marks, sucks bruises into her collarbone. Pulls her hair with reckless abandon. He squeezes her breast and pinches a nipple between his fingers and  _ laughs _ as she squirms even if his own voice is breathless. He drags nails over her ribs and startles laughing moans from her as he ruts against her thigh. It’s startling; it’s uncharacteristic of him. It’s desperate and messy and aggressive and rough-

And it’s  _ so fucking hot.  _

She’s almost startled to find that  _ she’s _ rutting against  _ him.  _ The swell of need thrumming through her at the near-carnal way he pins her, bites her, manhandles her. Can’t get  _ enough _ of her. Fucking hell,  _ no one _ has ever seemed to want her this bad. Wants him just as bad; wants nothing more than for him to just fuck her already. 

Maybe they do have some shared connection after all, because it’s like he’s heard her demands. Within moments he’s pressing fingers into her. He fucks her with them like his life depends on it and it’s so rough and fast and desperate it has her mewling, clawing at his back. Two fingers slid in easily, where normally it takes at least the  _ formality _ of taking it slower. Three isn’t far behind, and the stretch is so good, so needed from three whole days of denial. He curls them on the way out to let them drag, let them tease. Pistons them back in with the barest graze of a thumb on her clit. It’s torture, it’s heaven. 

And she whines when he pulls them free. He lines himself up with her and either by his own loss of control, or her legs around his waist desperately pulling him close, he slides in without much more preamble.

He hisses against her neck as he pushes in. Her hand is gripping his hair in a way that’s probably painful, but god. She can’t help it. Not when it feels this good and they’ve been on edge for  _ days. _

Their rhythm is a stuttered, half aborted mess. Oversensitive and too desperate for contact to pull away far. He takes to grinding against her, half thrusts that are the best they can do given just how tightly her legs are around him. He bites her neck, squeezes her breast, rolls a nipple in his fingers as he grinds into her. She’s panting, breathy noises slipping past her bitten lips as he fucks her, scratches her,  _ claims _ her. One of her hands shakily shoves between them to roll circles around her clit, and they both whine.

“Un- Una,” Chris pants as he sucks yet another bruise into her neck.

“God,  _ please”  _ She answers back, clamping down around him as he rolls the fingers on her nipple in time with the circles she draws over her clit.

They hardly last a few minutes. She comes first, swearing and arching off the bed with a cry and a gasp. Her legs press around his hips harder, her heels locking around his ass and pressing into the base of the toy still buried in him. Distantly, Chris swears into her collarbone as he fucks her faster, harder, desperately chasing after her as her body pulses around him. She’s panting and damn near half out of her mind with it but she drags her free hand down his chest to thumb at one of his nipples. He lets out a soft and truly broken  _ “fuck”  _ before burying his head in her neck and pressing into her hard and coming, trembling with it as he gasps for air and pulses in her.

They collapse back into the bed together, panting. Her nerves are singing with the endorphin rush. The heat of his body on hers is so nice, a solid weight on her chest. Her eyes drift shut. She catches her breath. Strokes his hair and claws his scalp with trembling fingers. 

Chris collects himself first, somehow. Pulls himself off her just far enough away that she can’t feel him. Based on the noises, is probably pulling his toy free, grabbing the towel to clean up a bit. Thoughts slowly begin to filter back in. What time it probably is, when the change over for shift will probably chime. They’ll probably have enough time to shower off, maybe spring for a bath, and- 

She opens her eyes.

And sees Chris. Sees him holding something. 

The other toy.

The one she almost used on Chris earlier, but decided on a different one and never bothered to put it back; on the thick side, ridged, and with a devastating curve to it. It’s a bit of a beast to behold, let alone ride.

He holds it lightly, and yet, somehow, it’s weighty. Not a threat, but something akin to it. She looks to Chris, and, oh. 

_ oh. _

He stares down at her, pupils blown so wide she can barely see the blue in them. Lips bitten red, hair askew. Slowly, purposefully, he uses his other hand to caress down the toy. She watches the streaks of glistening lube form behind it, helpless but to watch the movement. Her body lights up in anticipation, breathless and dizzy. 

He grins down at her, equal parts intimidating and arousing. Awareness suddenly slams into her: that her hips are still under him, legs still spread, body still prone. A hard wave of arousal crashes over her, enough to make her dizzy with it. He shifts forward. The hand not holding the toy carefully places itself next to her head without pinning her hair.

He towers over her, grinning, eyes alight.

“Payback’s a bitch” he says simply.

He kisses her then, scorching and demanding. Scoops her hips up and off the bed even as she writhes, begs, pleads -for what, she doesn’t know. More? To take it slow? Take her fast? They’re pleas without terms. Every fiber within her wars with itself: the need for pride and dignity against the renewed ache of her body and the urges she presses so far down. She bites her lip to hold them back. She has pride, she has an image, she is the one on top of their every affair, always together. He wouldn’t like her if she-  _ if they- _

He presses the wet tip of the toy against her, finds her wet and aching, and unceremoniously, slowly,  _ pushes it all in. _

Every last bit of decorum she had promptly flys out the fucking airlock. 

In an instant she’s chanting his name like a mantra; can hear her pleas as the desperate cries that they are and prays to every god she doesn’t believe in that the soundproofing on this ship still works because she’s pretty sure they can hear her in engineering otherwise.

“Please Chris fuck fuck  _ please harder _ fuck please!” 

Her legs cling to his waist and she digs her heels as hard as she can. Her hands sink into his shoulders, his chest, his back and surely leave nail marks but she doesn’t care, can’t care, not when every part of her feels like it's on fire. She begs, pleads. Grabs his hair and writhes under him and bucks back into him as much as she can. He grins against her neck, and suddenly the toy he fucks her with _ twists _ as he pushes in and she gasps in a desperate gulp of air in place of screaming. He does it again, over and over as he fucks her hard, fast. Every little ridge of the toy teasing her as it fucks her sends her higher and higher, and fuck, she must be losing her fucking mind.

“You have any idea how hot you are?” he whispers in her ear. “How good you look? Love seeing you like this for me. Only for me”

She wants to say something, anything. At least whatever's left of her mind does. Instead what comes out is some gutteral noise that might sound vaguely like “oh god” as she clings to him for dear life. 

He laughs in her ear, low and dark. And damn her, that will haunt her dreams for ages to come. Is this what it’s like for him when she’s teasing him? Fucking hell.

It feels like he fucks her for  _ ages;  _ a slow burning fire he stokes to have her desperate for the second round he’s giving her. He’s twisting the toy as he pulls out, pushing it back in in a truly  _ sinister _ way that presses it hard against her walls. One thumb teases her breast and she claws at his back to find purchase. To no avail. Her left hand slips between them to roll circles around her clit. She barely gets to touch herself before he’s slapping her hand away, pinning it to the bed with the hand not pistoning the toy. She whines wordlessly at him, tries to break free of the hold, but can’t. She swears, or at least  _ really _ wants to.

He bites her shoulder. A graze more than anything.

“I’ll bet you wanna come  _ real bad, _ huh?” 

Shame can’t find her here, pride can’t find her here. Nothing outside anything between them fucking exists anymore. She nods near-manically. Pulls his hair and begs.

“Please please please, fuck Chris, _ please” _

He kisses the bite he’s left on her shoulder. Grins as he laughs softly. Twists the toy again as he presses into her, and-

He fucking  _ stops.  _

She lets out a whine that is honest to god pitiful, even to her own ears. Claws at his shoulder with the hand that isn’t pinned. Begs him with what's left of her breath as he kisses her jaw -gently, too fucking gently- and drags his lips over her skin. Down her neck, tracing over his bites, then her collarbone. Sucks a nipple into his mouth just to drag his teeth over it and leave her panting. He kisses down her sternum, shimmying just a bit and jostling the toy in her ever-so-much. The denial burns in her veins, keeps her at a simmer as she’s helpless but to watch and anticipate. He frees her hand and it moves of its own accord into his hair as her head tips back.

He kisses her thighs. Mouths a love bite into the inside of one in a way that she just knows is a move to drive her insane. His free hand parts her lips, drags fingers over her over sensitized clit and makes her shiver. He chuckles, quiet.

He flicks his tongue just under her clit, swirls around it before he sucks, flicking just under it over and over. Pairs broad swipes with the underside of his tongue and pairs them with little flicks that have her grabbing fistfuls of silver hair. The toy is merciless as he fucks her with it, too big to miss every little nerve that sets her alight, clenching down hopelessly onto it only making it more overwhelming. She’s breathing like a sprinter, so close so close so fucking close-

Her back bows off the bed as her orgasm hits her suddenly and mercilessly. She comes around the toy, on his mouth. She’s screaming, or at least it feels like she is. And Chris  _ doesn’t fucking stop. _ Waves crash through her over and over and just when she thought they would abate he thrashes his tongue harder  _ just _ right and twists the toy, and god, her body just fucking  _ comes. _ With a thrash and a sob her whole body clamps down and locks up. There’s a pulse through her, and a gush of slick, and some small part of her that isn’t howling with pleasure shrieks in embarrassment of fucking  _ squirting _ on his  _ face _ , but fuck. She can’t care. Not when she’s fairly sure she’s locked in some kind of blissful hell as she writhes and begs and gasps under Chris.

She has no idea when he took over control of her body like this, but god, if he does this with it, she’ll happily give him the reigns any fucking day of the week.

All at once, her body collapses back into the bed, wrung out and heavy. She’spanting, soaked in sweat and fucking  _ exhausted. _ Satisfaction bleeds into every nerve she has, leaving her heavy and weightless at the same time. It feels like she’s just run a goddamn marathon. Her hips are sore as hell. She hardly thinks she’ll be able to get up in time to make it to shift  _ next week,  _ let alone tomorrow. 

She feels fucking  _ amazing. _

Chris quietly, gently, disengages. She hears him sit up and toss the toys somewhere onto the towel nearby, and uses the edge of it to wipe his hands clean. Eventually, her eyes focus on something other than the ceiling above her. Blink blearily as she watches Chris move, lit up by the stars through the port window.

He turns back to her, and gives her a once over. Distantly, she realizes she’s grinning. Maybe at him, maybe at nothing but the high she’s on. He doesn’t grin back though. He’s apparently frozen save for his eyes, flickering back and forth over her.

“What, cat got your tongue?” Una manages. Her voice is rough even to her own ears.

“Just,” he says, still looking at her funny. “You look- it’s,” he gestures vaguely.

She looks down at herself; sees the dried come, the bite marks and nail scratches, her hair splayed all over the place, the blotchy red of her space-pale skin.

“Your fault you know” she says dryly. “I’ll clean up when I can-“

“Un?” He cuts her off gently. “I know we don’t-um. You can obviously say no, I just.” He shakes his head. “Could I take a picture of you right now?”

Her whole world feels like it pauses.

“You want to take a picture of me, naked, looking like a mess?” She asks him, unmoving besides a slow blink. Debates on whether she quite literally fucked his brains out. Or he did her.

He blushes, but sticks to his guns. 

“Try, “‘you look and sound like the sexiest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen -and that’s including you on a Regular Basis- and because I recognize this as art and have zero skills in the arts, I desperately want some kind of keepsake of it’” he says all in just a few breaths. “You can obviously say no, and if you say yes I’ll have it buried so deep under locks and folders that not even the admiralty could get to it, I swear, and-“

The praise heats her skin. A swell of something soft rises in her chest. He trails off, and she considers it. Pride and decorum and the rules she lives by howl within her, panicking and reminding her of every single reason this isn’t a good idea. A terrible idea. Thousands of scenarios of her post-sex nudes being leaked all over the ship, the  _ fleet,  _ and how yes, Starfleet would prosecute whoever leaked it and wouldn never discharge her for the invasion of privacy she could never  _ show her face on the bridge again, and- _

Something else within her speaks. Quietly, firmly, urging a yes on her tongue. Her instincts have led her far in life -including on the bridge and in firefights- even if her logical mind told her they were wrong, illogical, a terrible idea that should never be executed. And, well, this is  _ Chris. _

“Go ahead” she grants before she can lose her courage. 

He blinks at her. “You sure?” Seemingly surprised she said yes at all. She is too, to be fair.

She nods. “Just make it quick before your come gets all gross on me. And you better hope for your sake that I look like a fucking bombshell”

“You do” he says quietly, as he fumbles for the closest handheld padd. Even quieter, she hears him say under his breath:

“You always do”

Something in her squirms at that, even as she tries to stay still for him. Somehow she feels even more naked than she already is, under his gaze. The raw affection in his voice from someone usually so unsentimental just. It does something to her. It sends that soft glow in her chest into a restless thrum within her.

Even when he’s taken the photo and put the mini-padd down, he still looks down at her so...reverently. He trails hands down her sides. The room feels so quiet suddenly. The air feels different. Not tense, but loaded, like a breath being held. One hand skims down the side of her breast, where she’s frozen beneath him in the same position. Her heart thuds in her chest so loudly she’s sure he can hear it. She stares up at him. He looks up to meet her eyes, and there’s something so soft in his eyes that totally disarms her. Threatens to overwhelm her.

No one has  _ ever _ looked at her like that. Not her teenage partners or academy flings. Not even her  _ ex-fiance _ from years ago. Only Chris.

_ God, she’s not built for this. _

It’s terrifying what it does to her. What _ he _ does to her. She’s built for barking commands, maintaining order, balancing control and competence. Built for others to follow her as she stands with them, apart and professional and in  _ control. _ She’s not built for... _ this.  _

There is no defense within her against someone who treats her like the woman she is outside this room, but also does  _ this. _ Who knows she’s iron willed and nothing fragile and will call him on his shit, and yet, when allowed, will hold her softly like she’s something precious. Who laughs with her when lube makes bad noises, who lets her take what she wants from him and gives as good as he gets. Who brews her near-poisonous tea when their replicators can’t make coffee and who rushes in to check on her in all hours of the night when she screams from the goddamn holo program malfunctioning and scaring the hell out of her.

He looks at her so reverently and awe-struck when she’s done nothing but  _ exist. _ He sees  _ her: _ the most honest her she’s ever let someone see in a long time, and he still looks at her like  _ this, _ and no one has  _ ever _ done any of that to her, and-

He swallows. His eyes flicker from her lips back to her eyes. 

“Una?” He asks so quietly, almost afraid.

Her heart stops. This is the Moment. The one she should have had, but the entirety of engineering losing its shit took from her.

And she  _ can’t say it. _ God help her, she wants so badly to say something, anything. Everything. Confess to him like one confesses sins to a priest. Where was the bravery she had all those times before? Where she almost just  _ said it? _ Where was her dauntlessness now? Her famed control?

She raises one arm and reaches to cup his face. Slow, shaking. It’s all she can do. Hopes to the gods she doesn’t believe in that he understands.

He meets her halfway. And when her trembling hand meets his cheek, he trembles on an inhale. Lays one of his own hands over hers.

She’s been doing a lot of praying, for someone who doesn’t believe in higher powers. And for all that she was convinced they don’t exist, they seem to be handing her quite a few mercies and miracles.

All breath leaves her in a shaky exhale.

“I-“ she starts, voice barely above a whisper. “I never would have-“

“Neither would I” Chris admits, staring into her eyes like he’s watching a star go supernova. Someone is shaking. Maybe they both are.

Tears prick behind her eyes. 

“You-?” she asks. Can't get the words out. Can’t hope that he. He could-

Chris takes a trembling breath. Nods. “How… how could I  _ not?” _ He half laughs, and gestures to her with a free hand, looking at her with disbelief. Like she’s something magnificent and inevitable. 

_ Oh god _

Her chest feels like it’s going to burst. She’s really shaking now. 

“I have for years. But I never -I wouldn’t, I _ couldn’t _ push it. Push  _ you. _ And I wasn’t sure you felt the same. And then, when...  _ this _ started...” 

“Anything to get closer to you” she whispers, finishing his thoughts -as they so often do these days. “Not, not like in a way that’s using you, but just.” She swallows. “God Chris, I wanted you so bad-“

“Me too.” He confesses through a laugh, joyous and emotional. “I- god Una, I...“ He shakes his head.

“I know.” she whispers, and god, Chris looks like he’s gonna  _ cry. _ But he grins all the same at her and all but dives forward and kisses her, and  _ oh. _

He’s kissed her before, but god, this is different. This is a Damn revelation of warmth and joy and stress and a euphoria that floods her. It’s uneven and broken by laughs of disbelief and relief. And he parts them just long enough to cup her cheeks and look at her like she’s a damn miracle, and laughs so softly. Peppers soft kisses all over her face and fuck. That’s it. 

The pressure around her eyes hath overrun. She cries. She cries for the first time in years that isn’t in grief over a memorial she writes to a family, or a report to Starfleet. Tears spill down her cheeks as she  _ laughs:  _ as Chris laughs with her, as he thumbs away their tears and holds her. He buries his face in her neck, pressing a litany of joyous kisses all over her, scraping his fingers down her sides and she’s laughing, shoving at him, writhing at the teasing little brushes that pull the most humiliating little giggles from the both of them. And tears still roll down her face and she’s almost sure Chris is still crying too. And the bed is a mess and they’re both in desperate need of a shower, and the toys are still somewhere on the edge of the bed likely about to fly off the corner at their tumbling.

But she doesn’t care. Not when she’s the happiest she’s ever been. Not when Chris is doing his best to make her laugh like a little kid again as he drags his hands all over her and laughs boyishly into her neck. Not when her body is singing with euphoria and her eyes are filled with tears. 

\---

“Your cup of poison, Number One”

“Why thank you, Captain”

Their morning ritual is almost the same.

An early morning shower for her, a stretch for him. A glance at reports before a hastily eaten breakfast of a power bar. Him sliding her morning coffee -or truly terrible strong tea, as of the last few days- across the counter of their bathroom as they slowly became people. The way they brush their teeth together in the darkness, because the lights of the bathroom were far too bright in the space-dark mornings. It’s familiar in its routine not unlike their evening ritual.

But this morning, he woke in her bed, like he did the night before. Like she had done in his bed the day before last. 

This morning, he greets her first with a kiss to the forehead -which she has come to know as the first new addition to their morning ritual- before they both leave the bed. Then her shower, then their breakfast. He checks to make sure her hickies are covered, and he laughs as she helps cover his own with the makeup sponge. He steals a gulp of her tea before he slides it to her, and the full-faced wince nearly has her choking on her toothpaste from laughing so hard.

“You’re a demon” he decides, sliding the cup across the counter. She catches it in her palm. Spits the toothpaste from her mouth into the sink.

“Told you; bitter and deadly, just like me.” she replies before stooping to rinse. 

“Mm. Apparently buttercups taste much the same, despite their name. Deadly, too,” Chris adds conversationally. But there’s a bit of a  _ tone _ to the non-sequitur. She looks up, sees the sparkle in his eye as he leans against the doorframe. It clicks.

“Don’t you fucking  _ dare-” _

“Dare what? Call you my delicate little flo-”

He doesn’t bother finishing the sentence. Too busy ducking the back of her hand as he darts out of the bathroom, cackling like a goddamn kid. Heat burns on her cheeks as she nearly chases him out, the bastard. 

\---

He calls her buttercup just before the doors open and they walk onto the bridge, and she damn near takes a swing with her padd in front of half the other shift crew. He still grins back at her while they walk to their stations, like he’s won some kind of argument between them and he’s trying not to be smug. For all her control and the creeping embarrassment, she can’t entirely stop her own little smile from creeping on her face. 

They get a report fifteen minutes later from engineering that the replicators are fixed, and coffee has been returned. Among the cheering and celebratory running to the ready room replicator from the crew around them, she laughs. And finds Chris laughing with her, calling to their coworkers that they better save the two of them a cup.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope that wasn't terrible and that y'all are staying safe. I might be able to write more, or those other pics I've had on the back burner for a while. Who knows, it might take another age and a half for me to get myself in gear. Let me know what y'all think. Wear a mask, wash your hands, stay frosty.


End file.
